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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877218">Steep Edges, But I'd Fall Right Into</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniOranges/pseuds/MiniOranges'>MiniOranges</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Happiest Season (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coming Out, Drinking, F/F, Pre-Slash, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:48:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniOranges/pseuds/MiniOranges</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She remembers running out of Jane’s basement bedroom, scurrying away to finally go home and reconcile with the dog, and the cats, and the fish. The regret of succumbing to Harper’s choice to pretend and deny was days in the making, but it all came crashing down just now.</p><p>She remembers passing by the party guests on her way out, heavy in baggages of packed clothes and maybe every insecurity she thought had been shed. </p><p>But she doesn’t register Riley in the far corner, curious gaze following the exit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abby Holland/Riley Johnson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>193</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Steep Edges, But I'd Fall Right Into</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I love girls.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Harper, it’s over. I’m done.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t do this for you anymore— Merry Christmas! Enjoy your family and enjoy—Connor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What? No! I don’t— I don’t want him, I don’t want Connor. I want you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do you know how painful it is to watch the person that I love choose to— hide me?!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am not hiding you, I am hiding me!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry. I have to go.</em>
</p><hr/><p>The illuminating, multicolored bar lights of <em>The Oxwood</em> rival that of Christmas fairy ones. And then again, Abby is entirely reminded of why she grew to dislike the holidays in the first place.</p><p>She remembers Harper’s words; like a ringing of so many other things. <em>Secrets, façades, losses</em>.</p><p>She remembers how it wasn’t all that easy to come out of the closet herself. A buzzing energy, a nuisance, a grip. When the uncertainty is as high as the exhilaration of just letting it go.</p><p>She remembers running out of Jane’s basement bedroom, scurrying away to finally go home and reconcile with the dog, and the cats, and the fish. The regret of succumbing to Harper’s choice to pretend and deny was days in the making, but it all came crashing down just now.</p><p>She remembers passing by the party guests on her way out, heavy in baggages of packed clothes and maybe every insecurity she thought had been shed.</p><p>But she doesn’t register Riley in the far corner, curious gaze following the exit.</p><p>Abby swings the door open, and crisp air greets her. While that was a given, it only served to heighten the moment. She never felt as frigid as she did now; as if free-falling again, into <em>charted</em> and <em>known</em> waters, knowing very well she’d slapstick.</p><p>Somehow, it’s worse than not knowing anything at all.</p><p>"Hey, Abby?" Riley catches up; hugging herself, trying to keep the cold away.</p><p>Abby perks, stopping. "Hey." She turns, out of air and gasping hard.</p><p>"Are you— Okay? I mean, obviously not, I should know. But—"</p><p>Abby interrupts with a laugh, shaking her head. Her breath, condensed by the wintry December night, escape in puffs. "No. No I’m not. Not really."</p><p>The scenario was all too familiar. Almost like they’ve done this before.</p><p>Riley’s face contorts more into pity, and less in understanding. Abby itches to save the moment, like she always does, gravitating back to the comfort of familiarity.</p><p>"You know what? I <em>really</em> want to drink some alcohol. Again."</p><p>
  <em>Just like the first time.</em>
</p><p>"Oh? Uh, yeah. You wanna— get out of here?"</p><p>Abby lifts her bags in lieu of a response.</p><p>"Right. I fortunately have just the place! But you knew that already." Riley smiles, a tad weary.</p><p>At once, without looking back, they tread on.</p><p>So this is how Abby and Riley found themselves at <em>The Oxwood </em>again. The contrast of its dark and blazing feel relieves her more than any seasonal family household. She ignores the implications.</p><p>They ditch fizzing champagne and spiced rum to give way for towering glasses of beer. It’s bitter, but it made more sense that way. Despite this, Abby chugs her own down the second it settled on the table.</p><p>Riley can only stare with raised brows.</p><p>Abby shrugs. "You gonna diagnose me?"</p><p>A snicker is received, and then, "Only if you’re ready."</p><p>The following exhale was deeper than imagined. "When you told me your parents were so— invested in making you believe in Santa Claus again, I felt that all too well."</p><p>"So, you <em>were</em> listening. But I’m gonna be honest, this— is not what I thought we’d be talking about."</p><p>"Yeah it’s just— when my parents were still here— I refused to believe in anything associated with fantasy. Santa Claus, tooth fairies— whatever for that matter."</p><p>Riley suppresses a laugh, nodding along.</p><p>"But they <em>persisted </em>to make it magical for me, you know. The pretending was there, because I wouldn’t have had it any other way. That’s why I used to— <em>love</em> the holidays. Even though I always saw it as pretending, nonetheless it worked." Abby gulps, swiveling her glass. "Then here I go— discovering things about myself, and it’s— maddening. It wasn’t just pretending anymore, you had to throw in emotional and mental repression."</p><p>The other girl finally looks up, "And pretending was never the same again, huh?" She finishes Abby’s words for her.</p><p>"Exactly."</p><p>They were too much alike.</p><p>Abby continues, "I can only imagine the overwhelm when I look back— you know, coming out. But at the time, no words can describe it still. Even after the breath of air, when mom and dad said they still loved and supported me— that feeling of being on edge, always comes around somehow. And look where it got me."</p><p>"Hey," Riley closes her hand around Abby’s wrist, the one resting on the table. "I don’t know how this is going to play out, but you deserve someone who even on the edge, still makes you feel definite <em>and</em> safe. You deserve a better holiday."</p><p>All Abby can do is sigh.</p><p>The night goes by in a blur, maybe due to alcohol. Abby and Riley share tidbits of their gayest moments, trying to dampen surrounding realities. They snort and giggle, eventually sitting side-by-side at one point. Just like the last time, the Drag Queens go around singing a sizable version of Andy Williams’ <em>It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year </em>and both women bob their heads and play along like it wasn’t the cheesiest thing.</p><p>They walk around the complex soon after, with Riley orienting the way. Ending up at some deserted gas station convenience store, both sit at a ledge outside, quite out of place for two women in formal suits but neither seemed to care.</p><p>Abby twists open her bottle of cranberry juice. "I’m glad we’re doing this because I have this thing where I absolutely <em>hate </em>pineapple juice. What’s my mystery illness?"</p><p>"Aren’t we supposed to test that out first?"</p><p>They stare at each other for a while, dazed and tipsy. Suddenly, like a burst of exuberance, they start laughing uncontrollably. Abby turns to look at the other girl, and under the stale, white glow of a typical 24-hour corner shop, Abby thinks of something for a split second.</p><p>It crosses her mind like pinpricks; the innuendo going away as fast as it came. Abby thinks maybe some edges are worth falling over.</p><hr/><p>It wasn’t worth it. Well, not at the moment.</p><p>Abby wakes, head throbbing like the pressure of a thousand blistering suns upon pale skin. She remembers nothing but sharp eyes and unruly guffaws.</p><p>Scrambling a little to look around, the room looks nothing like anywhere she’s been on in the last three days. It’s clean and spacious, with monotone colors of gray and white.</p><p>Despite the situation, Abby feels calm somewhat. Like there aren’t mischievous twins around or doors without locks to ruin the moment, holding her hostage after barging into valid privacy.</p><p>She starts to clean up and deliberately step out of the room, still unaware of where she currently is. Though she has an idea.</p><p>Outside the room, she faces another door. After the conscious decision to abort knocking on it and continue down a dimly-lit miniature hallway instead, Abby arrives at a small kitchen—where Riley, dressed down from her usual black on black polish, sits facing away from her.</p><p>Abby knocks on the wall beside her to alert attention.</p><p>Riley turns, standing up. "Hey! You okay?"</p><p>"Hey. Yeah, yeah I am. Um, was I by any chance— too much to handle last night?"</p><p>"Oh, believe me when I say I don’t mind."</p><p>Abby nods. "This yours?" She looks around.</p><p>"Yeah! Just something I use, usually while staying around for a bit. You slept in the guest room across mine."</p><p>Abby wants to shrink from embarrassment. The offer was entirely unwarranted.</p><p>Riley fills the void. "I’m gonna go get you a good hot drink this time. Settle down." She juts her head towards the tables, smiling warmly.</p><p>For a few minutes or so, the sound of mugs on countertops, boiling water, and steeping tea curate the silence. Once the drink is put down, the heat is all-inviting, causing Abby to dive in immediately.</p><p>"Thanks for all of this, by the way." Abby shares as Riley sits back down. "You really didn’t have to but it means a lot to me. Feeling better than— all the other days." She gestures vaguely.</p><p>"It’s not a problem, really. I had fun." Riley winks.</p><p>Abby smirks. A friendly response never hurt anyone.</p><p>It’s a little after 1 PM when Abby sets to leave. Having called John to pick her up, she readies to grab her stuff and trod out Riley’s apartment.</p><p>Unlike the escape last night, it doesn’t feel rushed or disappointing in some way. The realization flutters something in her she chooses to disregard.</p><p>Instead, outside the room, and barricaded only by the threshold of the unit’s door, she says to Riley, "I really would like to see you soon. Or to hang out again— if you don’t mind."</p><p>Riley acts to contemplate, but the hesitancy is nowhere to be found. "Probably not alcohol again, right?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah. Definitely."</p><p>"Well, guess I’ll see you around, <em>Abby</em>."</p><p>Abby manages a curt nod up. "Bye."</p><p>And throughout the whole, quick elevator ride down, although she’d never admit, Abby once again finds hope in the fact that maybe some edges, no matter how steep, are worth falling over after all. Over and over again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I want to write smut, but I'm a v*rgin.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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